Contrary to Popular Belief
by AwesomeIrony
Summary: Suddenly he realized what he had just said and he wondered, really, how many secrets he managed to keep anymore. (Loki/Tony Stark)
1. A Series Of Firsts

**Ok, so I probably should explain why the chapters are in a different order. I...Well, This story is in AO3 as well, and like a week ago I received a comment talking about how it looks more like a series of one-shots than an actual series (you can read the comment there, the username and name of the story are the same) and they were absolutely right. I had already known that, but didn't know what to do about it, I still don't as a matter of fact. And I wast happy at all with the order AND chapter...4 was it? yeah I think so, the one where the Avenger worry, so I'm gonna edit it and put it back in later. I know this is all very sudden and all, and I'm sorry, but I really needed to do this (my mind is so fucked up this tiny thing keeps me awake at nigh, so imagine what life is like for me with everyday-normal stress).**

**Don't get me wrong, simply changing the order of the already existing chapters and editing a few parts in them is not enough, but that's what I'm doing until I know exactly what I'm gonna do.**

**For those of you who follow this story and enjoy it, thank you, really, for your support. It really does mean a lot to me, as I am not entirely sure if I'm doing this well, but I will try at the very least.**

**Thank you for reading.**

* * *

He had gotten ahead of himself again.

He had let his guard down again.

He had let himself be fooled once again.

That is what he told himself.

And it was amidst the mocking smell of comfort and dusty books that he let his dormant anger consume him once more.

* * *

He would not forget, could not forget the hazy journey he had been awakened from.

A memory, a warning or a prophecy, he knew not.

Neither could he forget the liquid ice that crawled up his veins when, two weeks later, pitiless black stared at him (at his soul, at his secrets, with no means to interpret them), so similar to soulless blue.

* * *

He had heard of her arrival, though it did not concern him. As inexperienced as she was (or perhaps undisciplined) and with her current goal she posed no threat to him. At least not directly, but the backlash of it hit him either way.

She had opened a portal, interestingly enough, through which a small army of flying monkeys had passed (they were big, so quantity was not really a problem). The creatures had the uncanny ability to eat metal (though it wasn't really an ability if that was their actual diet) and looked savage and enraged.

All in all, it seemed like he would be delivered a good show.

So he sat down and watched as some of them attempted to distract Thor and the captain long enough to get their respective weapons (he does wonder what realm these creatures were from, and what their home land must be like) and others as they chased the Man of Iron around trying to get at least a bite out of him (or rather his metal suit, but the creatures didn't know that beneath all that was living flesh and bone).

He's wondering what the creatures would do when they found out (would they leave the man, uninterested in him if he is not comestible? Or would they explode into rage, killing the man savagely before he could even scream?) when he hears a loud bellow (Thor, his mind supplies) and he turns his head to better see what it was that made his bro- the Aesir let out such a sound, when he is thrown backwards, his body cushioning the fall of another, surprisingly soft one. He had not expected Stark to use him as a landing pad.

And that was his first mistake.

Upon further inspection he realizes that the man had been forced to leave some of his armour behind, mainly the part that covered his torso and upper legs, when one of the creatures had clawed and bitten at it enough to get at him and had then proceeded to flung himself at Loki, though intentionally or not he did not know.

"Shit, get down!"

Loki had been caught off guard, and so complied when Stark pressed him into the floor, covering his head and chest in an attempt to protect him.

A mortal protecting a God. A laughable thought.

And yet Loki did not find it in him to laugh, not today.

Not but a second after the words had been uttered a loud explosion sounded, shaking him down to his core, and even from his position, under Stark, mostly 'protected' from it, he could feel the blazing heat. He also did not miss the way Stark flinched at the sound.

He heard the agony of the creatures as they were burned and felt the building start falling to the side before it was stopped by another building.

A pity, really. He had actually kind of liked the food they served in the restaurant located on the 10th floor of it.

"Well, that was not how I planned to spend my Monday."

He looked up at the mortal, who was not paying the slightest attention to him. No, instead he was looking back at the remains of smoke and fire that he had caused. He did seem to remember Loki however, when beyond the grey fumes some more of the creatures made themselves visible.

"Fuck, okay, you might wanna get out of-" The words died when Stark realized just who he was protecting.

"Well good morning Stark. Fancy meeting you here." A predatory grin snaked its way onto his lips.

"This is so not my day." The man quickly jumped off of Loki and backed away to be able to face both threats (its doesn't go unnoticed to the God that Stark is actually shaking, in a way that he had never seen, and he wonders what it was that caused that, if Loki himself did not).

"Are you not happy to see me Stark? What with your enthusiasm while bodily flinging yourself at me..."

"Really not the time, Loki." The seriousness of the statement surprises him. Stark did not often refuse an opportunity to engage his enemies verbally.

And then he remembers that there are giant flying metal-eating monkeys heading their way and that his armor has a lot of metal in it.

He really should have left when he had the chance.

* * *

He doesn't mean to take the mortal with him, though at the moment he doesn't realize that he has.

What he does realize is that two of the creatures have come with him and he has to duck to avoid getting his face bitten off. He quickly unsheathes two daggers and throws them at vital points in the things' necks. Blood practically explodes out of their veins, their heart beating harder due to the pain, trying to get the blood to the places where it needs to be.

They do not get up again.

After that it is not so easy to control his breathing anymore, and he falls to his knees, no longer aware of his surroundings.

All he knows is that he is back in that place. Back in the darkness, back in the silence, back in the despair, where his screams are not heard, but held in the air, frozen and filled with the tears he has never allowed himself to shed. Back in the cave where he would sit, barely breathing, in fear that the countless terrors that lurked in there would notice his presence and rid the universe of him once and for all.

"Whoa, hey calm down, Loki calm down now-"

He holds his hands over his temples as phantom pain flares up all over his body, hearing half formed words that are eventually drowned out by the memory of his agony filled cries.

The similarities between eyes without will of their own are too many, and he is unable to not be reminded of those days when all he could hear was his heart trying to jump out of his chest.

That is when he feels the hand on his back.

It grounds him, that point of contact that is not ice cold, and makes him come to his senses a bit faster than he normally takes. It keeps rubbing circles big and small, but never separating from him.

"Hey, come on, slow your breathing, shit, what did Rhodey do? Okay, just, it's okay, you can stop doing whatever it is you're doing-"

Soft spoken and frantic, not really meant to show comfort. He can't actually understand them, the fog in his head has not cleared enough for him to be able to process them, but the tone of the voice stops the shaking of his hands and the slow, uniform movement on his back lulls his heartbeat and slows his breathing.

"-Its okay, they're dead. You can stop freaking out -" The voice is faint, trembling even, but it never stops, providing him with an anchor. The hand, he notices, is shaking terribly as well, but they both still serve as a guide for him, letting him realize that what he is seeing is not real, not anymore, and that his eyes are actually closed.

"Loki, buddy, I really don't wanna burn to death in here, so please, please calm down-"

The words don't make sense until he opens his eyes. At some point his hands had lit up, green fire burning around clenched fists. He sighed and closed his eyes again. He has become worryingly familiar with losing control over his magic lately.

Breathing deeply, he unclenches and flexes his hands before forming fists once again. He repeated the process until the fire stopped.

"Okay, see? You're okay, you're here, and you're fine, it's gonna be fine-"

But the words still won't stop, and a slip makes him aware of the fact that the words being spoken are not fully directed towards him.

They're not really for him.

And this angers him, for here is another person that has made the mistake of not paying the attention that Loki deserves.

So, when the hand retreats and the scuffle of metal and cloth as it is dragged along the ground stops, he turns to the mortal.

Immediately he notices just how ridiculous Stark looks in the mangled armor. He still has the helmet, as well as the gauntlets, boots and chest pieces, but it is quite obvious that this is not his normal one. This one seems lighter, more flexible, thus more easily penetrated by fangs and claws accustomed to a steady diet of metal, for the back, sides, abdomen and upper legs all have parts missing and look so mangled that Loki wonders how it is possible for the armor to continue working.

Stark neither moves nor stops speaking.

It would be so easy to kill him right now, paralyzed as he is. So easy to get rid of such a fundamental part of the Avengers. He is so tempted to do so. To kill this man who mocked him, who refused to give the respect and fear Loki deserved.

He raises his hand, bright green energy ready and aims. It would be so easy, like swatting an insect out of the sky.

But he stops.

Stark is sitting as far away from him- oh, but it's not him is it? It's the creature. Stark is sitting as far away from the creature as he possibly can, staring at it with a kind of frozen terror that is all too familiar.

He stops and lowers his arm. He stops and widens his eyes. He stops and throws back his head and laughs.

Because the irony of this is not lost to him.

"Stark." The word is out before he can stop it, but the man pays no attention to him.

Perhaps a closer look at him is not unwarranted

* * *

The first time he appears in front of the man he splutters and chokes on his drink, completely unprepared to see Loki materialize out of thin air, and immediately scrambles to find the nearest projectile available to defend himself with.

It would have been more effective if said projectile were not a lemon.

"Well that certainly looks threatening." Loki smiles sharply.

Stark frowns, "If you think it isn't then you Cleary have never been chased by vengeful exes."

"Clearly." They stay like that for a while, sizing each other up, before Stark sighs and drops his 'weapon'. He does not relax at all, but just like that day at the Tower he turns his back on Loki without hesitation.

"So tell me, what have you been up to? You know, besides causing several thousands of dollars worth of destruction every month."

"Oh nothing important, really." He sits in the chair on the other side of the desk and watches as Stark continues eating.

"Mhhm." Stark watches him carefully but does not stop chewing. Loki knows the man is injured, his right arm in currently unavailable, but he can't tell if the dark circles around the mortals eyes are bruises or a consequence of lack of sleep.

"Sir, The Avengers are on the way."

It isn't the first time Loki has heard the disembodied voice, but it still startles him. It is an unusual thing, not even in Asgard did they have ghosts living within a building, at least, not ones that were able to communicate and make decisions of their own.

"I'm sure there is no need for that." Loki tells him.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure there is." Stark looks up at him in silence. They stay like that for some time until Stark swallows and takes a sip out of his drink.

Loki says nothing, refuses to so early on, merely sits and waits and observes, looking for something.

He does not know what exactly.

"The Avengers will arrive in approximately 10 minutes sir." Stark briefly looks away to direct his attention towards something he holds in his hand. A phone.

He has taken his attention away from Loki. For a phone.

He wants to hit him. He wants to destroy him, push him around, make him bleed. He wants to take everything away from him, making him be completely dependent on Loki, making him hope for death, dream with it and crave it like a long lost lover.

He wants to completely obliterate him, form a crack on the mortal's reflection so that when he looks in the mirror he may see just what Loki is.

To leave him completely breathless with despair.

But he settles instead for taking the man's food.

Stark squawks indignantly as Loki eats in front of him, unable to stop him as the God takes a sip of his drink.

"Well, this has been...interesting." Loki uses a napkin to wipe his mouth and disappears.

The doors bursts open 5 seconds later.

* * *

"Brother! Release him!" Thor bellows just before an animated tree sends him crashing against a car.

Loki looks back at the man he has hoisted over the edge of a building.

"Are you not going to beg for mercy?" He accentuates each word by tightening his hold on Stark's throat before loosening it.

"Sorry, can't do it, the stars are not in position." Stark wheezes out even his air supply it cut of almost immediately.

But he is not looking at Loki.

He is watching as his dear captain and archer have been cornered by one of the trees.

He is paying almost no mind to Loki, except for where his arms are trying to pry the hand constricting his breathing away.

He is not looking at Loki.

And this angers him.

He tightens his fingers until he can see the bruises forming.

"What is the matter, Man of Iron, are you more afraid for your teammates that yourself?"

Those brown eyes finally turn to meet his, and Loki relishes in the undivided attention until he realizes something.

The man's eyes are calm, so calm, even while he glares stubbornly at Loki. So familiar.

Stark's desperation is not truly for himself.

He flings the man away from himself, disappears just when Thor manages to catch the falling mortal.

* * *

Looking back he realizes that it was not the wisest choice to show up as he had, for it is several days before he has an opportunity to do so again.

He does not know what to do about the fact that Stark was apparently waiting for him.

"Sit," He says, gesturing grandly at the table and chair in front of him. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Vegetables are nice and all, but I think I deserve some deep fried, heart attack inducing food after the shit I've been forced to put up with lately."

The table is full of drink and food, almost no space left. He does not recognize a lot of it, but the ones he does look mouthwatering.

It keeps going after that. They rarely talk, sometimes one will completely ignore the other (the occurrences form a pattern that he would like to forget). But it seems to be an unspoken agreement between them that as long as Loki is allowed this, this moment, not of peace, but of respite, he would maybe be able to use some of his self-control.

He still doesn't know how it is that they got to this part.

One day, Stark takes a napkin as cleans his mouth, leaning back in his chair and looking at him straight in the eye.

Loki feels a sense of dread.

"So. You, are here. In this place."

"Articulate."

"Well there's really nothing I could say to you inviting yourself to my food the first time. And I can't complain about you being here the second time."

"Certainly not. It would not reflect well on upon your reputation as a good host."

Stark offers a strange grin.

"I still don't understand how you got out of Asgard, and how you got back here. There's supposed to be only one way to travel in between...realms" The man says the last word with obvious distaste. He is a rational man, a mortal with an obsession to find explanations for everything, so it is quite obvious why he would hate to have to communicate with terms that to him seem so vague.

Loki tries not to focus on just how familiar the man is to him.

"I happen to be a man of many secrets."

Stark scoffs, "Yeah, Wikipedia really gave me that impression."

* * *

They are currently in a restaurant Loki had actually visited before his association with Stark. The food, as always, is magnificent. Loki is an undeniable hedonist, and it seems that Stark is one as well.

"Why..."

Loki looks at him over the rim of his glass. He does not miss the flinch that Stark tries to stop. Maybe it's the blood red stickiness of the wine (He will admit to himself that that little illusion was made for exactly these situations, and tries to hide a smirk as he catches people around them staring at the glass with horrified expressions) or maybe it is the glass itself. Body reactions like that seem to be predominant around reflective surfaces, at least for Stark.

"Why are you here?" Loki raises an eyebrow.

He gestures towards the meal, "You live with Thor, I'm pretty sure that you have noticed that even Gods need to eat."

Stark sends him an utterly unimpressed look.

"Yeah, you know that's not what I meant."

"Perhaps the question should be why are you here." Stark raises both eyebrows, clearly surprised.

"Is it a sacrifice? Or is it pity that has you here? Fear or sympathy? That has you sharing a meal with one of your many enemies. Did Director Fury instruct you to do so, much like he would to his precious Black Widow? Or are you compromised? Does your delusional optimism give you reason to think that I may not destroy this pitiful planet tomorrow?" Loki waits for Stark to react, waits for the man to give him a reason to destroy, his fingers already itching to damage something, anything.

"My reasons are surprisingly none of your business. And don't flatter yourself, I don't usually feel pity or sympathy for anyone, even if they deserve it. Fear and especially Sacrifice are things that I rarely experience or do. Not really my thing, heroism suits me much better."

Stark stands, straightening out his clothes.

"And the one with delusions here is you. I am not indulging you, or Fury, or even myself for that matter. I don't really care much about you unless you are messing around with things you shouldn't."

And he leaves without a backward glance. The itch to destroy everything is intensified by Stark's careless dismissal of him.

Stark still bears Loki's finger-shaped bruises on his throat.

* * *

The first time he enters the Tower after his defeat is during the night, cloaked both by darkness and the sleep that clouds the inhabitant's eyes. He is painfully aware that this is not a wise choice either, but there is something that he wants to confirm.

He passes by unnoticed and this time it provokes no anger in him, no need to create chaos. (He tries not to think too much on why these reactions are only provoked by a particular person.)

It takes him a while to find the right room, mainly because it is in a separate floor above the rooms of the others. However when he enters he freezes instantly at the absolute silence and stillness in the room. It feels as if someone has sucked all of the air out of the room, everything feeling so tense he cannot help but remain rigid as he approaches the dark shape at the center of the room.

He is not going to pretend that he doesn't feel it, the strange energy radiating from the person laying on the bed. Now that there is no noise or movement to distract him it's easy to find its origin. What is not easy is understanding just why it is there.

The energy is raw, the danger of setting its destructive power off far too real. It seems to emanate from the man's chest, current so subtle one would never guess the things that can be done with it. If one could harness it, instead of just encasing it like the man seems to have done, then...

But still Loki cannot understand is how this energy is here, now.

A pained sound interrupts him from his thoughts and he takes a look at the person's face. The man is pale, sweating profusely and his muscles seemed to have locked themselves into painful positions. Nothing about this man's sleep looks peaceful. Loki finds it ironic in a way, that even heroes seem to get no reprieve.

And then he notices that the man has not taken a breath in a while.

He stares, waiting for something to shatter the eerie stillness of the room, and even debates doing so himself when a loud yell erupts from the sleeping man. He immediately cloaks himself in the darkness, remaining still in case someone comes to aid the man.

Meanwhile he watches as the mortal curls and tenses even more than was thought possible, panting deeply, skin going completely white. A hand comes up to scratch as his chest until at last he lets another yell and scrambles up.

His eyes are wide, looking in terror at everything while his hand remains in place, pressing so hard Loki can practically hear the bruises forming.

Loki is familiar with that fear, far too much to be comfortable with being in the same room as the man. Fear so cold that it invades one's veins and constricts their breathing. Fear so deep, it turns its victims into animal, all instinct and no common sense. Fear so strong sometimes...sometimes the options seem far too limited.

All remains frozen until the man recognizes where he is and runs his free hand though his hair, breathing quickly.

"Fuck..." The voice cracks, not sounding at all like the man Loki has come to recognize as the arrogant fool he threw out of a window. He stays still, closing his eyes, hand never leaving his chest and then slowly lays back down, the smell of panic thick in the air.

Loki stays until Stark's breathing evens.

No one came to help him.

* * *

The first time they actually have a full conversation not cloaked (much ) by mocking is almost half a year after it has become a regular thing for these meeting to occur.

"Thor says you were missing for 5 months."

Loki looks up from the dish to see Stark staring at him. He leans back.

"Did he now?"

"Where were you?" Even when he glares Stark stares back stubbornly.

"Did he not tell you? He seems awfully comfortable telling anyone who will listen about anything that occupies his mind." Loki sneers, anger bubbling beneath his skin.

"Where were you?

"Ask your precious tea-"

"Thor has nothing to do with this."

Loki laughs cruelly, "He was the one that volunteered the information. He has everything to do with it."

"I don't care about Thor."

"Do you not? If he were to be injured would you not keep vigil with your ghost? If he were to die, would you not make sure that his mourning would be grandiose? If he were upset would you not try to lift his spirits?"

"Unless he was in the place where you were his opinion doesn't matter."

"Thor's, Son of Odin's, opinion does not matter?" He smirks hatefully.

"Give me a reason why it should." This stuns Loki into silence. There are not many who would disregard Thor so easily.

"Where were you?" The man keeps his steady gaze on Loki.

"...Lost." It is the vaguest of answers, and yet it seems to satisfy Stark. He reacts as if he had expected this answer and nods, directing his gaze to the window.

"...Lost huh?" He asks no further and Loki is grateful of not being under his gaze.

"And were you found?" Loki closes his eyes, flashes of sharp white teeth and warm, black hearts beating brokenly filling his mind.

"...A part was."

* * *

Loki is not a good man. He is a God. He has caused mischief and destruction in equal parts, even if more moderately distributed than Thor. Many times it has been for entertainment, and he has felt little to no remorse in doing so, at least not when it suited his purposes.

The mercy he shows is more for practicality than actual feeling. He does not care for listening to other's pains and problems, and he does not care to be a reassuring entity. He lies and cheats and steals and is naturally suspicious, unlike Thor that was always inclined to believe the best of those who got on his good side.

He is not a good man, nor does he want to be one.

And this is why he tries to not think too much on how dependent on one he has become.

He is not blind, he can see the desperation and frustration in Stark's eyes. And he knows that every so often it mirrors his own far too much. He knows that when he visits the man it is not for information, at least not anymore like it had been at the beginning. He knows that he has not thought of the Star Fire in much too long, rather focusing on repeating the conversations he has with the man in the privacy of his mind.

He also know that the Fury that invades his veins every time the man takes his attention from Loki is far too analogous to that which plagued his last moments in Asgard.

But sometimes he will watch as Stark comes close to the brink of death time and time again in his own sleep, only to wake up breathless, trapped in his own mind, that which will not let him be in peace for even a second, and it will make him wonder.

What exactly is the cost of becoming a good man?

* * *

He had gotten ahead of himself again.

He had let his guard down again.

He had let himself be fooled once again.

That is what he told himself.

And it was amidst the gruesome smell of rubble and burnt rubber that he came to comprehend how rashly he had acted.

* * *

**So, critics, comments, reviews, always welcome! (And necessary!)**


	2. The one Where no one Listens to Tony

Stop being dramatic, they said.

It'll be fun, they said.

Tony bit back a shout as a well aimed punch made contact with his now probably fractured ribs.

Well they could kiss his perfectly desirable ass.

Tony Stark was not a fool. Hello, Genius Billionaire, Playboy (admittedly not so since Afghanistan) Philanthropist? Ring any bells? How could a holder of Phds in things only about 10% of the population could pronounce be a fool? The thought was laughable.

So when it was not so subtly suggested to him that he go out and 'behave like a human being, for gods sake Tony, you're starting to look like Gollum!', he immediately knew it was a bad idea.

Ok no, it did not sound like a bad idea. Not a good one either, reasonable maybe. He however, being the epitome of not-being-a-fool, refused.

Why? Well because he had better things to do than go out and have the sunlight catch his hair while running around chasing butterflies (it had nothing to do with the date, nor with the shiver that passed through his spine at the thought of leaving his workshop in that particular month). And he said so to Steve and Pepper.

"There is nothing of interest, for me, out there, on Earth, at all."

Steve used the frown-of-eternal-disapproval while Pepper backed him up with a rather convincing and fury-filled silence via the phone (cant have the tabloids start calling the owner of a multi-billionaire company a cave troll) though, so Tony decided that it would probably be best to cave in.

Besides Thor wanted to go out, and he had been banned from doing so on his own since New Year's Eve until further notice and apparently no one but Tony was available (hah) on this particular day.

So, very reluctantly, he agreed.

Steve grinned and slapped his back saying, "Good man.", while Pepper said "You might enjoy yourself." before hanging up.

Fifteen minutes later found Tony Stark taking his very first step outside the tower in close to a month (that was not part of an Avengers mission) only to feel a stinging sensation at the side of his neck.

His knees buckled, turned to jelly by whatever drug was injected into his system, and he fell to the ground, struggling weakly against the arms that grabbed him and threw him into (surprisingly) the back of a sleek yellow Camaro. A person kept him tucked low in the seat while another two drove and pressed a gun warningly to his side respectively. Thor had gone to retrieve something he forgot, so he wouldn't be getting help from him.

'No one ever listens to me', was his last thought before he surrendered to the darkness engulfing his vision.

* * *

As stated before, Tony Stark was not a fool. Therefore he did not expect to be in the United States anymore. His captors had proven to be quite, well, professional. The fact that they successfully managed to take him right in front of Stark Tower was evidence of both preparation and patience because, well, he was not a regular man. There was absolutely no way that they could have known that he was going out that day (the decision was made literally twenty or so minutes before the kidnap).

He was kept drugged. Most of the time he was unconscious, but there were moments when he was aware enough to hear voices. In one of his most lucid moments he was able to make out the scenery passing by outside the truck that his new captors had acquired somehow (the ones from the beginning gave him over to four burly men at some point), and realized that it was not familiar.

Now he was high as a kite, but he was pretty sure that there was no replica of the Statue of Zar Peter to be found in the USA.

They arrived at a grey building, not too tall, but very wide. It appeared to be a warehouse of some sort and he couldn't help but snort at the cliche.

A punch to the stomach doubled him over and he coughed while being dragged inside, idly noting that the place was very well kept, obviously important and often used.

* * *

The next time he woke up he was surprised to find himself on a cot in a small windowless room. His shock quickly turned to annoyance as he realized that his hands had been shoved into a pair of mittens and then tied behind his back. His captors apparently realized just how dangerous it was to leave Tony Stark 's biggest weapon unbound. Not that he could make anything with a pillow, a mattress and the metal bars of the cot when they were attached to the ground, but his ability to become a threat was acknowledged (he ignored the slight sickness that he felt at not being able to at least cross his arms to hide the Arc Reactor form view).

He sighed and struggled to a sitting position, resting his head against the wall, trying to think. Now that his thoughts were not muddled by drugs he realized that he must have been in Russia, The Bronze Horseman's statue as much of a give away as the talking that he heard when he was being herded into the building. While he knew several languages (Hey being CEO of a corporation such as Stark Industries wasn't all play, no matter what Fury and sometimes the Avengers thought) he didn't know Russian beyond business language. He did have a branch of SI in Russia, but this was one of the ones that actually didn't need his attention as much, so he hadn't bothered to learn the full language as he had with other countries (in the world that he lived in it was ill-advised to trust a translator).

He took stock of his body, noting the pain that was still radiating from his stomach and finding that his limbs had not recovered their full strength yet and his muscles were twitching lightly, fighting the last effects of the drug.

His internal clock told him that more or less a day so had passed, so it wasn't that long ago that he had arrived. He looked around and found that there were no cameras, but the door was made out of metal and looked heavy, so maybe it wasn't necessary.

He huffed, feeling nervous despite himself. He had been careful since Afghanistan. Very careful. It had not been a pleasant experience, being powerless and at the mercy of his captors and he had done everything he could to prevent that situation from arising again.

He didn't like to admit it, but Afghanistan had left scars besides the one in his chest. That one was a constant reminder, but not the only one.

He could not go anywhere without the suitcase armor. Not even a social outing would be excuse enough for him to leave it behind, and he could not go to places with little people (if he were to get kidnapped at least witnesses could give SHIELD clues as to what happened).

The Avengers had looked at him funny every time they went to the movie theater and he put the suitcase in the trunk, the only thing stopping him from taking it all the way inside being their raised eyebrows. Even today he had called Happy to have the man accompany him and Thor with the suitcase in hand (and now that he thought about it, where had Happy been? Was he late or had they hurt him? Cold creeped into his stomach. Happy was NEVER late).

They thought him paranoid and negative. And maybe they were right, but he could not break a man's back with a simple slap, or protect himself with a toothpick or transform into the very definition of indestructible. As much as it pained him, he was a simple man. He did not have any special training, though the guys were doing their best to teach him. He could probably do fine with a gun or even one-on-one combat if his opponent was not enhanced somehow. But he was still vulnerable to the same things that others were vulnerable to.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply when he felt himself start to panic. He tried to think positively (Pep and Rhodey would be so proud of him). He had not woken up with a new chest cavity, so that helped. In fact he was not harmed in any way except for the slight pain from the punch he had received; his ropes were secure but not too tight and allowed blood to flow freely to his hand. His cell, while small, had a bed and even a pillow, so maybe they aren't too concerned with harming him, at least not yet. He all could mean 1 of 2 things:

He was being used for leverage.

They wanted information and were trying to gain it by showing him that they could be merciful if he gave in.

(Somehow he thought that they were not going to ask him to make weapons for them. If they bound his hands so carefully, they probably knew what a bad idea that was.)

Well either way this was the calm before the storm and he had nothing to do but wait.

He laid down with his back to he door, hiding the Arc Reactor from sight and tried to relax. The last traces of the drug used on him were making him drowsy and he went to sleep with dreams of warm, kind eyes behind a set of cracked glasses.


	3. A Paradox's Ambition

**Heads up! This chapter may be confusing...yeah...well I hope I made enough sense...**

** By the way this story has no beta so I'm sorry for any mistakes there might be in there. Please tell me if there are any so that I can fix them.**

**Without further ado, enjoy!**

* * *

The mortal's room was warm, dreadfully so, the large dark drapes trapping the warmth radiating from the lump found in the large bed.

He walked silently, slowly getting closer to the big leather chair found near the bed and sitting on it.

The house's guardian called Stark's name , seeking to awaken him, but the man only snuffled quietly and attempted to bury further under the covers.

"You would do well to listen to your Protector if it is this simple to infiltrate your abode."

Stark did not seem to register who had spoken and merely turned away from him, flapping a hand in dismissal.

"Go 'way, 'm tryin' to sleep.'"

Not being able to help himself, Loki chuckled deeply, briefly thinking of the vulnerability of the mortal (of how easy it would be for him to snap the mortal's neck in two, how fragile his bones would feel, how his pulse would race as he is reminded of exactly who Loki is).

The noise seems to finally rise Stark enough to make him turn his head in Loki's direction.

"Wha?"

"Eloquent as ever Stark."

The reaction was instantaneuos.

The man screamed (yes, screamed, though Loki thought that were he more than half awake it would not have happened), instinctively throwing his pillow at Loki's head while scooting backwards, drawing his knees to his chest and the covers to his neck as he breathed heavily.

"Holy crap, thank you, really, for that preview of what a heart attack feels like."

Loki smiled, all teeth, "I live to serve."

Stark stared at him with wide eyes, chest still heaving from fright. It is strange to see him so affected when before he faced Loki just fine, emanating nothing but confidence. Of course he was not yet awake enough to act as he would like.

"Are you going to do this often? Do I have to start sleeping with the suit on?"

Loki chuckled, "Cheer up Man of Iron. If I have not killed you yet I do not plan to do it anytime soon."

"Well how reassuring. Seriously stop stalking me. I've had it with everyone thinking I'm crazy."

"What makes you think you are not? Maybe all this is an illusion. Maybe I am merely a hallucination sent to drive you into madness."

"Hahaha." It was said dry and sarcastically (yet Loki could still hear a hint of something dark and doubtful that only showed through his voice).

"This is the fourth time this week alone Loki. Mind telling me why you insist on continously waking me up at," Stark glanced at the clock on his bedside table, "3:00 am? Besides following me everytime I go out?"

Loki raised an eyebrow, "Why not?"

Stark sighed and pushed both his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Maybe because you are suppossed to be in some dungeon in Asgard? Not following me into the dressing room to tell me to buy you pie of all things."

Loki shrugged, "I have become quite fond of Midgardian desserts."

"Well sorry if I dont believe that you gave up evil for cupcakes."

"Is this not preferrable to me seriously attacking your city?"

Stark sighed, resignation coming off of him in waves. It was truly remarkable just how readable the mortal was when not given enough time to get up his defenses (and he briefly wondered if it was the same with him).

"Whatever. So...what do you want this time? Scones? Pancakes? I'm sure I can find a place that's still open so that you can let me go back to sle-"

"Why have you not yet told Thor?"

Silence filled the room. Stark did not relax (he was wise not to) but he did not look as jumpy as a few moments ago. The man looked at him straight in the eye, brown so deep that it looked almost black in the darkness and Loki knew that he would not like the answer.

After what seemed an eternity Stark looked away and shrugged.

"Somehow I thought you might not appreciate it."

Loki leaned forward a little, "And pray tell how are my sensibilities any of your concern?"

The force of the man's gaze stopped him from saying anything further.

"They're not. I'm not really doing it for you, or Thor for that matter, though that is a part of it."

"Then why?"

The mortal shrugged, directing his gaze towards the windows, as if knowing that looking Loki in the eye would have been a very bad choice.

"Well, why not?"

* * *

Ambition.

That is something that for a long time defined him, ruled him, drove him.

Stubborn, endless ambition.

Ambition for aproval. For recognition. For respect.

He did not feel sorry for himself, but for his younger self. The one that would flail endlessly to appear worthy in front of eyes that overlooked him. Who wanted nothing more but to not have to be silent. The one that was continuosly ignored, forgotten, cut off, cast aside.

The one who was ignorant as to why.

But he is angry too.

He is angry at himself for having let it mean so much to him (but it still does a bit, doesnt it?). He is angry at himself for letting two little words defeat him, steal his breath and shatter his resolve. But most of all...

...most of all he is angry at himself for still being angry over something that is perfectly obvious now.

He never even had a chance.

* * *

It is when he finds his upside down reflection looking back at him from behind a cup of tea that he pauses and thinks about it.

Stubborness is there, yes, but also, to his opinion, misguided talent.

What is his reflection's ambition?

His reflection only smirks bitterly when confronted with the question.

"Not ambition, more like debt."

Loki doesnt understand. Debt? To whom? And why?

The smirk turns into something sadder and stronger. A paradox.

And it is then when it starts.

* * *

**By the way I will try to update regularly, but I dont have and internet conection at home so...you know...life...**


	4. A Warning of The Subtle Kind

He wakes up when he is lifted from the bed and onto his feet, not gently but certainly not roughly. He is not awake enough to notice the syringe they have until it had already broken his skin.

"The hell?!"

He trashes, trying to get it out of his arm, but the drug is already in his system and he immediately drops backwards into the guy that had taken hold of his bound arms.

This time he doesn't loose consciousness, but his thoughts are slow and fuzzy, and he can't control his muscles; all he can do is weakly roll his head in protest. His breathing slows without his permission and his eyes feel heavy, but not so much that he would go back to sleep.

Guy number one (the one that he fell into) grunts and heaves him over his shoulder (it's easier than trying to drag him all the way while his body feels like a wet noodle) while Guy number two (the one with the syringe) holds the door open for him to pass.

The hallway is grey, but clean and breaks off several times into other ones. Confused, he tries to take note of everything he sees, but apart for some black doors with windows and one or two air ducts, everything is very much the same.

Finally after a few minutes of silence they arrive in front of one of the black doors, exactly the same as the rest.

Guy number two opens the door for Guy number one. When they pass through he is deposited in a comfy leather chair in the middle of the room (it makes him a bit nervous; why make him comfortable?) and then the guards retreat out of his sight. He blinks blearily and forces his head up with a moan. Whatever it is that they injected into him is really effective at subduing him (his spine is kept forcibly relaxed while it tries to tense up in apprehension, and that makes him panic just a little more) and he doesn't react when someone steps in front of him.

"Good evening Mr. Stark. I do hope you are quite alright. I'm terribly sorry for my

employee's earlier mistake, be assured that it has been taken care of."

Unable to tense his neck any longer his head falls back and he stares up at the pale man looking down at him. His thoughts gather enough to notice that the man reeks of blood, even if there is not even a speck of it in his white suit.

"Well, Mr. Stark, shall we begin? I'm sure your colleagues are dying to see you."

Mr. Stark. That's him. Colleagues? Who...?

Right.

The Avengers. SHIELD. He is being used as leverage.

The man smiles dangerously at him and then turns his back to him and blocking him from the sight of a camera and a big black screen that Tony had not noticed until now. He nods at a man in a corner and suddenly the screen lights up, revealing three vaguely familiar faces. He concentrates but the most he can come up with is the image of...of...a taser...?

"Director Fury," The man says pleasantly.

The man in the middle glares.

"Mr. Williams. To what do we owe this pleasure?" He practically spits the words out.

"Now, there is no need to be so cold. After all I do have something of importance to you."

Fury arches an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving.

"And what would that be?"

"This," The man (Williams, his name is Williams) steps aside, letting the camera focus on Tony.

The expressions of the ones on the screen do not change, but Fury's eyebrow lowers.

"Stark."

"Exactly!" Williams gleefully proclaims, grinning widely. "Mr. Stark is my dear guest, and will be for quite some time."

Fury frowns when Tony moans and tries to get his head to cooperate enough to look directly into the camera without looking drunk.

"That does not look like hospitality."

"Every good host has their own version of hospitality," Says Williams, "Mine may be unconventional, but well," He shrugs. "what are you going to do?"

Tony eventually gives up and lets his head fall back, but Williams moves closer and takes a hold of him, making his face clearly visible for the ones on the screen.

"Smile Mr. Stark. Your dear friends have missed you tremendously have they not?" The smooth, French accented voice says in his ear.

"Not really."

Oh joy. His life sucked.

"Well that certainly is a shame." The blonde let go of him, making his head fall against the side of the leather chair.

"If you do not miss him, then maybe I can find a better use for him. You see, my employees and I are busy, busy people, and a little distraction is always welcome."

Even drugged a chill went up his spine at those words.

"What do you want?"

"Me? Nothing. My employer? Well...that is another matter entirely."

"Then what does your employer want?"

Williams smiles dangerously and shrugs.

"Who knows?" His hand is idly playing with Tony's hair, and he tries to move away. The fingers tighten painfully for a second before they pat his head in a way that is supposed to be comforting. Tony can't help but tense a little.

"You see, Director Fury, my orders were not to ask anything of SHIELD, at least not yet, but to make you aware of the fact that I have Mr. Stark, as well as send you a daily update of how he is doing. And, well, you are familiar my work aren't you? So you might have an idea of what could happen to Mr. Stark while in my care."

Fury's face does not change, and neither do the others. Man, they would totally kick ass in poker. He tries to say so, but only a groan comes out of his mouth.

"Well, Director Fury, we must be going now. Do not fret, for my employer does not particularly want Mr. Stark harmed, and neither do I, though it is a pleasant thought. But be aware of this. Mr. Stark is in my hands now. My employer is not a merciful person, so I can be given a green light at any moment to do as I like with him."

The screen goes black again, and the red light disappears. The man turns towards him and smiles cheerfully.

"Well, Mr. Stark, shall we begin the entertainment?"

"Holy fuck."

Fury slumps in his chair and rubs the back of this neck. Why the fuck was he doing

this job again?

"This cannot be seen by the Avengers. No one but the people in this room are to know about this. We keep it a secret for now until we find we are able to either retrieve him or come across his location." He looks around the room and then back at his two best agents. Hill and Coulson nod at him, mouth a firm line against statue like faces.

"Do we know what his last action was before this?"

Hill opens a thick yellow folder in front of her. When the request for a live video conference was made they had scrambled to find anything they could on the man who sent it. They had vague knowledge of him, but his actions were not something that would fall under SHIELD's radar like Doom or Hydra.

"In January of this year he kidnapped a family of six in Belgium. Two adults, one teenager and three children all under the age of nine."

"Bodies?"

"Five. The mother was retrieved alive with signs of extreme torture, both physical and psychological..."

Fury glanced at Hill. She was not known to be shy about relaying information.

"Yes?"

Hill looked him in the eye (bracing herself, his mind supplied).

"She committed suicide as soon as she arrived to the hospital."

They didn't know this man, not really. In some cases agents had worked near this man while undercover (case in point, Barton and Romanov). He was not something they would be concerned with; he had no connection with mutants or gods or evil scientists, but his actions were gruesome enough that even SHIELD, the one to face all of the previous things, were under instructions to capture him, if they are able to.

"Do we know if he has ever had any type of contact with Stark?"

"None." It was Coulson who talked.

"Is there anything about possible employers?"

"This is the first time he has kidnapped someone under orders of someone else."

Fury sighed and ran his hand over his face. This is most certainly not his first rodeo, much less the last. But Williams was an elusive man. Without anyone telling him, Fury already knew that the signal of the video call is untraceable. Anyone able to hide from SHIELD is to be wary of.

"Last known location?"

"Chile, but it is highly unlikely he is still resides there."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Are there any live victims?"

"Two. Margaret Chase, currently 56, and Richard Ford, 27."

Fury straightened. "Contact Interpol, CIA, FBI and whoever else it is that is looking for him. Inform them of this new development and give them a heads up of our involvement. Get me access to their sources, if they have any and use the ones we already have within them. We need to find this man and retrieve Stark yesterday."

Hill nodded and stood up quickly, phone already in her hand. As she headed down the hall one could hear her barking orders to mobilize everything according to Fury's orders.

He turned towards Coulson.

"Do we know where Mrs. Chase and Mr. Ford currently live?"

Coulson nodded.

"Pay them a visit. We need all the information we can have."

"Yes, sir."

"Stark was drugged. I doubt you saw anything untoward from Stark's part?"

"No."

Fury nodded. He hadn't seen anything either.

"We have to get Stark as soon as possible. Afghanistan was not a walk in the park, but this could very well be the last straw. I doubt Stark has taken any type of training for this?"

"No. Agents Barton and Romanov, as well as Captain Rogers tried to engage him, but he repeatedly refused. To my knowledge he never even took therapy for Afghanistan."

Fury nodded.

Stark was strong. When he returned from Afghanistan they kept a close eye on him. The possibility of Stark wanting revenge on the world for what happened to him was extremely high, and it would have been very dangerous to have someone of his intellect be on the wrong side.

It was extremely surprising that he had come out as Iron Man, a relief even, and they knew that were it not for the man whom Stark had mentioned once or twice and Stark's own stubbornness, Iron Man would most certainly not be working with them.

But if Stark had not gotten over Afghanistan yet, there was a very good chance that this would be the thing that broke him, if not killed him.

They had to find him and fast.


End file.
